


How To Date Your Brother

by rockstarpeach



Series: Blow Me 'Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Humor, Asshole Dean, Closeted Character, Het, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, True Love, Wincest - Freeform, asshole Sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-26 20:12:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6254254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockstarpeach/pseuds/rockstarpeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s been acting weird all day.  Because who wouldn't be, if you were trying to date your own brother and they just didn't get it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Make Your Intentions Clear

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to ‘Blow Me’.  You don’t have to read that first for this to make sense, you just need to know this – First, Dean and Sam started to fool around.  Then they started to like it.  Then they started to like each other.  Now, they have to fumble their way through what happens next.

   
Sam waited in the passenger seat of the Impala while Dean walked Trisha Kinney to her door. 

Sure she was kind of traumatised, what with the ghost of her recently dead ex-boyfriend haunting her for the past few weeks, and her watching on in horror while he went up in screaming flames.  It probably didn’t help that Dean had been casual as fuck about it, sent him to the other side with a flick of his thumb and toss of his lighter, but she was seriously milking it, as far as Sam was concerned.

She'd been flirting with Dean since they started this case, two days of practically falling into his arms and climbing into his lap at every possible opportunity (not that Dean seemed to mind) and Sam wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d just lifted up her skirt and started to ride him right there at the table in the diner, or her living room sofa.

Sam _was_ kind of surprised that Dean hadn’t fucked her yet.

Anyone that eager to jump on somebody new couldn’t be all that broken up about a dead ‘kind of my boyfriend, but we were never that serious’.  With full-on batting eyelashes, and sly curl of her mouth.  Shit, she’d actually looked at Dean’s crotch and licked her lips.

Dean, of course, had just smiled his killer smile at her and she’d melted and baked him a fucking pie.  
Which he hadn’t even bothered to share with Sam, the stupid jerk.

He scowled extra hard, picking at the dirt under his fingernails as he watched Dean walk back to the car from Trisha’s front door.  He was waving a piece of paper at Sam, no doubt her phone number and he was all smarmy wink and over-exaggerated swagger and way too proud of himself.

Yeah, it fit.  Two days worth of flirting no doubt meant that Sam was going to be spending an evening alone with his computer while Dean got his rocks off with pretty slut number 3, this month.  And if Sam was lucky, Dean wouldn’t do it in their motel room.

Fuck, Sam's life would be a lot easier if _Dean_ wasn't such a pretty slut.

Sam narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth, jaw so tense Dean couldn't possibly miss it but Dean just waggled his eyebrows and got behind the wheel.

“Oh yeah,” Dean said quietly to himself and tucked the sheet of paper into his wallet.  Smug bastard.  
It wasn’t like Sam had expected anything to change between them, even after Dean’s monumental confession a few weeks back.  Sure, ‘You fuck me up, man,' wasn’t exactly a declaration of love in most circles, but between Sam and Dean, it was pretty seriously huge.

And like a giant tool, Sam had thought it might have meant as much to Dean as it had to him.

Since then though, things had been normal.  Almost too normal.  Dean hadn’t been awkward or weird at all, hadn’t tried to initiate any sex, but hadn’t gone out of his way to avoid Sam.  They’d still been working great together, still felt comfortable around each other; everything was just the same as it’d always been.

And really, he didn’t expect what happened to change anything.  Of course not, Sam had come to terms a long time ago with the fact that they were fucking other people.  It wasn’t Sam’s usual thing, but nothing about the two of them was Sam’s usual thing. Seriously, he hadn't wanted to touch the _brother_ thing since the first time he _touched_ his brother.

And he didn’t even _want_ for anything between them to change.  Except that he really sort of did.  Oh, he didn’t expect Dean to stop sleeping around, or to stop making fun of Sam all the damn time, or really do very much differently at all.  He just thought maybe Dean would have been a little more subtle about making plans to fuck someone else was all.

Dean cranked the radio on the way back, singing along about how Tom Sawyer _knows changes aren't permanent_.

“But change is!” Dean belted out and Samwas still staring a hole through Dean's back pocket, where his wallet was and he almost missed Dean's nervous shift as he looked over at Sam and turned down the music.

“So uh...” Dean said, instead of turning left at the lights and heading straight for the motel.  “Looks like we’re done here.”

“Uh, yeah,” Sam agreed, cocking his head and looking at Dean questioningly.  “Looks like.”

“It’s still early.”

If anything, Sam’s look got a little more confused.  “Yeah.  It is.”

“So... what are you... you know... gonna do for the rest of the night?”

Okay, and was Sam going crazy, or did Dean seem kind of twitchy?

“Well, I didn’t exactly have any plans, Dean,” Sam said, making a face and pushing back in his seat.  “Figured I’d follow you into whatever dive you decided had the highest cholesterol count per serving and watch you hit on the waitress.”

Dean perked up at the mention of food.  He smiled slightly at Sam and nodded his head.  “Yeah, alright.  Dinner sounds good.”

***

“Um, Dean?” Sam asked when Dean pulled into a parking space around the corner from an upscale Italian restaurant.  Sam didn’t even think this town _had_ restaurants like this, but apparently Dean had been looking up more than grave sites when he was on Sam’s laptop earlier.  “What the hell is this?”

“It’s called a restaurant, Sammy,” Dean said, getting out of the car.  He slammed his door and waited for Sam to do the same on his side and then grinned at Sam over the roof, elbow resting casually on the black frame.  “I thought you might have heard of ‘em before.”

“Yeah, but,” Sam said, frowning as Dean took off for the door and Sam chased after him.  “But we don’t usually eat in places like this.”

“Places like what?” Dean asked, not looking at Sam.  “That serve food?”

“That serve _good_ food, yeah,” Sam agreed.  “It’s just not our typical type of place, that’s all.”

“Yeah well,” Dean said as they stopped in front of the door and he pulled it open.  Sam stepped back and waited for Dean to elbow his way past him like he normally would, smiling and laughing when he knocked into Sam as they wrestled to be first through the door.

But Dean didn’t.  He moved out of the way, held the door open and nodded at Sam to go first.

Sam’s eyes widened, but Dean stayed where he was, looking at Sam expectantly. His look started to turn more exasperated the longer they were both just standing there staring at each other like idiots, so Sam mentally shrugged and cautiously stepped through the doorway.

“Maybe this isn’t our typical night,” he barely heard Dean mutter as he stepped in behind Sam, the door closing after him.

“I’ll say,” Sam mumbled but he smiled politely when the hostess greeted them.

***

“Wine, Dean?”

Dean shrugged and poured then both a glass from the bottle their waiter had left on the table.  “It’s supposed to go really well with that...” Dean nodded in the direction of where he figured Sam’s plate would be in about ten to fifteen minutes, when their order arrived, “carburettor... whatever the hell it is that you got.”

“Spaghetti carbornara, Dean,” Sam said absently, more caught up Dean’s choice of drink.  “And... I don’t remember the last time I saw you drink wine that didn’t come from a box.”

“Hey, screw you, Sammy,” Dean said, huffing a little and fidgeting his fingers uncomfortably around the stem of his glass.  “I can do nice shit.  And I can give you nice shit.  It doesn’t always have to be beer and burgers, you know.”

“Why the hell would you want to give me nice..?” he started and then blinked, hard and shook his head.  “Whatever.  I just didn’t know you liked this kind of thing.”  
“You do, don’t you?  Like fancy shit like this?”

Sam took a sip of the wine Dean had poured for him and he had to admit, it was good.  He hadn’t even thought about having an actual meal at an actual restaurant in years, but... yeah.  He’d liked this kind of thing, once upon a time and while he’d honestly be just as okay with a salad at the diner around the corner from their room, he had to admit that this wasn’t bad.

“Yeah.”  There really wasn’t much else he could say.  He still hadn’t figured out exactly what Dean was playing at.

“Good,” Dean nodded.  “Now shut the hell up and eat your weird-ass crusty bread.”

***

Dinner passed in kind of an awkward silence, interspersed with random bits of conversation about how hot Michelle Obama was, how  much Dean hated the Yankees (fucking Philly bitches can’t win more than two games, what the fuck?) and, of all things, the Goddamn weather.  It was raining.  Which, apparently, was odd for Pittsburgh this time of year.

And if Dean wasn’t acting weird enough, when the waiter came around and asked about dessert, Dean didn’t order pie.  He ordered cake.  Chocolate, which Sam loved and Dean hated.  Just one piece, and two forks.  It wasn’t like it was the first time they’d split a desert, but usually Dean just tried to steal the whole thing from his plate after Sam had ordered and they ended up fighting over it rather than sharing.

“God,” Dean said around his first bite, mouth open and twisted in disgust.  “This is fucking gross, dude.  How do you eat this shit?”

“Mmmmm,” Sam hummed in pleasure, lips closed as the chocolate melted on his tongue and he swallowed it down.  “Hey, if you don’t like it, Dean, don’t eat it.  More for me.”

“Hey, go nuts,” Dean offered, leaning away from the table and dropping his fork and Sam happily shovelled another bite of cake into his mouth.  It was damn good cake, still warm and syrupy on the inside.

“Just go easy there, hey Porky?  That shit’ll go straight to your ass.  And I ain’t fuckin’ a fattie.”

Sam nearly choked on his bite, coughing and sputtering, grabbing his napkin to keep from spewing bits of food all over the table.  “What?” he hissed incredulously from a half-full mouth behind his hand.  “Fuck you, man.”  If anyone was carrying a few extra pounds these days, it sure as hell wasn’t Sam.

Not that Sam had any complaints about the way Dean looked.  Hell no.  Dean looked _good_.  Or, he would have looked good if Sam had been inclined to notice that sort of thing, which... Okay, yeah.  Fuck it.  Dean looked good.  Sam had a big fat gay hard on for his brother.  What of it?  
Plus, this was pretty much the first mention ever that Dean had made of their sexual relationship that didn’t take place right in the middle of their sexual relationship.  And it was... _weird_ to hear him just mention it like that, so casually.  A bit – no a _lot_ – douchey, sure (plus he knews Dean was full of shit, he'd never discriminated based on body type), but... he’d said it.  All matter of fact and unapologetic.

Dean just raised an eyebrow and watched Sam lick a crumb from the corner of his mouth.  “Well, It’s not like you don’t have other options, if I’m not up to your high aesthetic standards,” was what Sam said.  Because he was an ass.  And a moron.

Dean just screwed up his face, looked at Sam like he smelled something bad and shook his head once.  “Whatever,” he said.  “So hey, I was thinkin’ we could maybe watch a movie.”

Sam put his own fork down on the plate next to the almost finished cake, and pushed it away.

“Casa Erotica?” he asked, pulling a face.  “I’m not really in the mood tonight, Dean.  Besides, didn’t you already get someone’s phone number today?”

“Jesus Christ.  Who pissed in your Wheaties, Sammy?”  Dean pulled the plate across the table to him, avoiding the candle in the centre, and scooped the rest of it into his mouth with Sam’s fork.  “It’s not like I asked to fuck,” he said around a mouthful of chocolate, pulling a face at the taste.  “And I’m not planning on calling that chick.”

“Why not?” 

“Fuck you’re a moron,” Dean said.  His forehead creased in that cute way that it did when Dean had a thought that he thought was particularly insightful.  Not that it happened often.  “Wait, is that what your mood tonight’s been about? ‘Cause some chick gave me her phone number?”

“What?  No.”  No, that happened all the time.  What had Sam in kind of... well, he’d just call it a snit, because that was pretty much what it was, was that Dean had seemed so fucking happy about it.  All smiling and gloating like he’d won some kind of contest.  “What mood?”

“You’ve been bitchy since we finished this hunt.”

“No I haven’t,” Sam denied. He'd been bitchy since the hunt _started_.

Dean rolled his eyes.  “If you say so, man.  Anyway, I was thinking more of going to a theatre.  You know, big screen, popcorn and shit.”  And holy fuck, Dean actually looked down at the table during those last few words, got sort of quiet, like he was afraid Sam might say _no_.

“What?” Sam asked.  Had to ask, because seriously, _what_?

“Well, there’s that new one with Katherine Heigl in it,” Dean said, washing down the last of the chocolate cake with a huge gulp of wine, then stuck his tongue out and washed that down with some water.  “She’s hot.”

Wow, his brother was the exact opposite of classy.  Sam wasn’t even a little bit sorry they didn’t hit these nicer places more often.  It was fucking embarrassing.  He smiled in embarassment at their waiter and wrinkled his nose.

“You mean the romantic comedy?”

Dean shrugged, one-shouldered, like he didn’t really know or care.

“Seriously, Dean.  You’re acting really weird.  I’m honestly starting to consider an exorcism.”

“Fuck off.  I thought you’d like it, what with you being a giant girl and all.”

“Wait... You thought _I'd_ like it?  Since when do you care what I like?  And since when do we go to movies?”

“Just thought it might be fun,” Dean said, huffing.  “Give us a chance to relax and act like normal people for once.  Fuck, never mind.  Sorry I brought it up.”

“No, it’s...” Sam started, baffled and shook his head.  “Yeah, okay.  Let’s go see a movie.  But... can it not have Katherine Heigl in it?”

Dean smiled, lips stained red from the wine, and Sam felt good.

***

They ended up going to see some action flick.

It wasn’t bad.  Probably.  Sam couldn’t really remember.  He was too busy wondering why Dean had gotten only one large popcorn, no extra butter and sprinkled gummy bears over the top.  A guilty pleasure of Sam’s that Sam didn’t even think that Dean knew about.

Dean made a face every time he took a bite, not enough fat and salt for Dean’s liking and way too much sugar, but he ate it anyway, and didn’t complain.

At one point Dean’s arm ended up around the back of Sam’s chair, his fingers twitchy and restless, playing over Sam’s shoulder, but when Sam looked at him, mouth open to ask what the hell he was doing, Dean pulled his arm back and snatched a handful of gummy bears right out of Sam’s hand.

“Fuck that chick’s hot,” Dean said, nodding at the woman getting out of the shower on the big screen, her tits wet with water droplets and bouncing slightly as she dried off, before the scene changed to a violent car chase.

“I’d do her,” Sam whispered into Dean’s ear.  Because Dean was right; she was hot.  And Sam really wasn’t sure what else to say.

***

As soon as they got back to the motel Dean went straight for the bathroom.  He came out five minutes later, changed into his shorts for bed, face reddened from scrubbing it clean and mouth minty fresh.  
He nodded toward the bathroom and Sam nodded back, looking somewhat askance, because for all the normal there had been the past few weeks, tonight had so far been anything but.  He went in anyway, and took his turn getting ready for bed and when he came out he was stripped down to his boxers and tossed his clothes on top of his duffle bag against the wall.

They’d have to do laundry soon.  He hoped Dean hadn’t improved his Rock Paper Scissors skills, because Sam hated laundry.

“Don’t set the alarm for too early,” he told Dean.  “This hunt was a bitch, and I want to sleep in.”

“Yeah, no complaints here,” Dean said and he surprised Sam by stopping him with a hand pressed to his chest as Sam tried to cross the room to get to his bed.  The hand was almost hesitant, a flat palm pressed to his breastbone and Dean’s fingers curled slightly, nails tickling the skin.  Sam tried not to get hard, but it wasn’t easy.  If Dean wanted sex he probably wouldn’t be this subtle about it.

Saying 'Let’s get it on, bitch', and grabbing his crotch was more Dean’s style.

“Dean, what..?”

“Uh... goodnight,” Dean said, swallowing loudly.  Sam looked down at him and nodded, frowned and before he could move away again, Dean leaned in and kissed him.  It wasn’t heavy or even open-mouthed, just a gentle press of lips, Sam’s top lip caught between Dean’s and Dean held him there for two seconds, maybe three.

And fuck if Sam didn’t let him, because as much as he liked fucking Dean, and holy shit did he ever like fucking Dean, _kissing_ Dean was something altogether new and completely phenomenal. 

Sam was still for a few seconds, trying not to scare Dean off, because Dean tended to scare easily when kissing was involved, even if Dean had started it. He began to open his mouth slowly, sliding his tongue out to find Dean’s.

And shit, but he should have known.  Too soon.  Dean pulled back then, with one last peck, teeth closing down softly over Sam’s bottom lip as he went, and his tongue traced out over his own lips absently.

“I... Good night, Sam,” he said.  “Tonight was... Well, it didn’t suck.”

Sam’s mouth opened, worked a little around words that wouldn’t come out as he narrowed his eyes in concentration.  “What?” Damn, but tonight had been confusing as fuck, start to finish.

“Goodnight,” Dean said pointedly, eyes wide in warning as he looked at their beds, trying to end the awkward moment.

“No, seriously Dean,” Sam said, ignoring Dean's warning. “What the hell is going on?  A nice restaurant for dinner?  An actual movie?  And you... you just kissed me...”  Sam’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped.  Dean started to flush and Sam grabbed his shoulder to hold him still when he tried to make a break for it.

“Holy fuck,” he said, voice barely coming out more than a raspy whisper because _holy fuck_. “Was this... Was this a _date_?!”

“What?” Dean asked, snorting out an awkward laugh.  “No.  What... No.”

“Holy shit.  It was!  Oh my God.”  And then Sam was smiling, because this was almost too funny to be real.  “That was you.  On a date.  Christ, Dean.  No wonder you’ve never had a girlfriend.  You suck at it dude.”

Dean scowled at him and Sam tried not to laugh, he really tried, but this was just Goddamn gold.

“Oh, blow me you little shit,” Dean growled.  “I know you’ve _been_ a girlfriend a couple of times, Sammy, so I thought I’d defer to your expertise on this one.  Hey, what’s lesbian sex like, anyway?  Is it hot?”

Dean’s look turned from angry and sarcastic to far off, verging on happy and Sam didn’t know if he was actually imagining two girls together, or Sam and a girl, or if he had some fucked up picture of Sam _as_ a girl with another girl and he really didn’t think he wanted to know.  Especially when Dean smiled a little, that happy, goofy smile and finished with, “I bet it’s hot.”

“Super hot,” Sam confirmed, smirking. Asshole. Two could play that game. “Almost as hot as gay man sex, which you're pretty much a pro at, at this point, eh Dean? You and me, two men? Or am I your girlfriend?”

“You’re not my girlfriend, Sam,” Dean insisted, choking on the word like it went down wrong.  “You’re... we’re...”

“Dating?” Sam asked with a wicked grin and smiled even harder at Dean’s glare.

“This is the most fucked up conversation I have ever had,” Dean mumbled, pushing Sam back and looking at the floor.  “Maybe we should just fuck and get this shit back to normal.”

“I don’t think so, Romeo,” Sam said, smiling smugly.  If his brother wanted to fucking date him, for the love of Christ, he was not going to waste this opportunity.  “I don’t put out on the first date.  I’m gonna need a little more wooing.”

“What?!” Dean asked, head jerking up at Sam and looking at him like he was crazy.  Or on drugs.  Or possessed.  Whatever.  “Jesus fuckin’... First of all, we’ve been fucking for how long now?  And also, yes you do!” 

“No,” Sam countered, shaking his head firmly.  “I’ve had one night stands, but I’ve never slept with someone on the first date that I’ve planned on seeing again.”

Fuck, Sam thought when Dean smirked.  That was... a dumb thing to say.  Way to hand your brother the entire face-off on a platter there, Sammy.  He sighed and closed his eyes briefly, preparing for whatever asinine comment Dean decided would be appropriate.

“So you want to see me again, huh?” Dean said, grinning wide and goofy.  “That’s cute, Sammy.  You gonna give me your number?  Wait by the phone until I call, and tell all your little girlfriends what a stud you’re going out with?”

“Uh, Dean?  You’re the one who just took me out on a date without even telling me about it first. Worst date in history, by the way.  You were awkward as shit, and don’t even get me started on your manners.”  Sam felt that was a very important point.  Dean was the one that initiated the whole ‘dating’ thing. Dean was the goober that wanted them to act like boyfriends.  Not Sam.

Not that Sam would necessarily be opposed to it.  He’d just kind of like to be told about it first.  Hell, maybe even asked, but he wasn’t really counting on being asked his opinion on much, where Dean was concerned.

“That’s not fair,” Dean said. “You had a good time, didn’t you?”

“I... yeah, sure I did,” Sam said.  He did, ultimately.  He had a _confusing_ time, but Dean had a point.  It wasn’t actually bad.  “Thanks.  I guess.”  And hey, look at that.  The confusing just kept on coming.

 

Dean smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and winked, before crawling into his bed.  “I’ll call you, baby,” he said, all cocksure and smarmy, in that way that made Sam roll his eyes when Dean directed it at clueless college girls or truck stop waitresses.  This time though, it made Sam snicker around a smile, and sent a pleasant shiver through his body.

He bit his lip and crawled into his own bed, pulling the blanket up to his waist, turned his head on the pillow to watch Dean.  His lips were still curved up at the corners, like he knew Sam was watching him even though his eyes were closed and it took nearly an hour for his face to still completely, his muscles to relax and his breathing to even out.

Sam watched him the whole time, hand playing idly over his stomach, the tips of his fingers just brushing underneath the waist band of his undemihrwear, tickling the trail of hair.  He didn’t go any further and even though he was hard he didn’t really want to.

Dean was right.  Now that he looked back on the night, after having a better idea of what Dean had been thinking and doing, he really _had_ had a good time.

He finally let his own eyes slide shut and fell asleep, thinking it was entirely possible that he’d just agreed to start dating his brother.


	2. Step Two:  Buy Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has finally started to admit what’s going on between him and Sam. So of course, Sam stops putting out. His reasons are ridiculous but Dean jumps through the hoops anyway, because seriously, he just wants a friggin’ blow job.

Dean shifted on his bed, uncomfortably tossing from his back to his front and back again. The hunt they’d just finished up had been a bitch, and he was sore and tense and wired as fuck. 

He was also hard.

A good adrenaline rush always did that to him and now, even though he was exhausted, he couldn’t relax, couldn’t get comfortable, couldn’t fall sleep.

“Hey Sammy,” he shout-whispered, which was a dumb-ass thing to do since the point of calling his brother was to wake him up, so who gave a fuck how loud he was?

Sam mumbled something indecipherable and shifted a little in his own bed a few feet from Dean’s, pulling the covers up over his head.

“Sammy!” Dean hissed, louder this time, and then he dropped the hushed tone altogether. “Wake up, dude.”

Sam groaned and threw the blanket down on his chest. “What?” he asked, and he didn’t sound quite as bitchy as Dean might have expected, so that was probably a good sign.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Well shutting the hell up is probably a good place to start.” He rolled over, turning his back to Dean. So much for not being bitchy.

“No, I mean… That hunt got me juiced, man, and I can’t fuckin’ sit still.”

“So go for a jog or something,” Sam mumbled. “I was sleeping just fine, and I’d like to get back to it.”

Dean sighed and sat up, punched his pillow a few times to fluff it up and lowered his head back down on it. He started tossing and turning again after less than ten seconds.

“Sammy.”

“Seriously Dean. Either shut up or get out.”

“Hey uh… listen,” Dean said, rolling over to look at Sam. Sam’s shoulders tensed but he rolled onto his back to face Dean, one eye cracked open cautiously. “Could you maybe blow me real quick? Help me get rid of some of this fuckin’ twitchiness.”

“What?!” Sam sputtered, eyes fully opened at that. “No, Dean, I can’t ‘blow you real quick’. Well, technically I can, quick-draw, but I’m not going to. Christ.”

“Why not?” Dean asked, frowning. Sure, even after all this time Dean knew Sam still didn’t like giving head any more than Dean did, but they’d at least gotten used to it. Sort of. It was a little less gross than it had been, anyway. 

Plus, it wasn’t like Dean was getting any from anybody else these days, so the least Sam could do was take the edge off when Dean needed a quickie. It was only polite.

“Uh, because I’m not in the mood?” Sam mock-questioned, pitching his voice up at the end, like it should have been obvious to Dean.

“So? I don’t want to blow you, so you don’t have to be in the mood. Come on, it’ll be quick, I swear.”

Sam pushed himself up on his elbows and looked at Dean, bewildered. He laughed a little and shook his head. “Dean, just… no. I’m not gonna just drop everything to get you off every time the mood strikes.”

It was Dean’s turn to look confused. “Why not? Seriously, I mean isn’t that what…” He snapped his mouth shut the second he realised that he’d been about to say ‘isn’t that what couples do?’ because he and Sam weren’t a couple. Not really. And even if they were, Dean sure as fuck wasn’t going to be the first one to say it.

Also, Dean had to admit that he had no idea what couples did, not ever having been part of one for more than a few weeks. There was probably a lot about this shit that was going to be new to him, and he’d probably have to rely on Sam’s experience to get him through some of it, but for fuck’s sake, Dean just wanted some quick head. Was that too much to ask?

If it was, then Dean needed to rethink some things.

Sam smiled, a mocking sort of pitying smile, and Dean rolled his eyes and flopped onto his back. Well, fuck.

“Dean, just because you took me out on one sucky date like, a month ago, doesn’t mean you get on-call sexual favours. That’s not how this works.”

“Oh, no,” Dean groaned and folded his arm over his face. “You’re not still trying to pull that ‘won’t put out until the fifth date’ bullshit on me, are you?”

“I don’t think that was exactly what I said, Dean. And no, I’m not. But I’m tired, I’m beat to Hell, I’m covered in bruises and I was almost choked to death by a zombie. I don’t really feel like chocking on your dick right now.”

Dean sighed, and lowered his arm, turned his head to the side to look at Sam. Yeah, that was probably fair. “Hand job?” he asked hopefully, with a little quirk of his lip, and let his eyes crinkle in that way that he knew made Sam cave most of the time. Tonight however, no such luck.

Sam just narrowed his eyes and Dean scowled back at him. “When did you turn into such a prude? Fuck.”

“I’m not…” Sam snapped, and then stopped and took a breath. “I’m not being a prude,” he said, slower and more clam. Dean raised an eyebrow and Sam continued, voice a little darker now. “I’m also not your whore. I’m not in the mood right now, Dean, and also? Next time you want to fuck around maybe try something a little more thoughtful than ‘hey, wanna blow me real quick’.”

“The fuck?” Dean asked, screwing up his face. “Sammy, that’s the kind of thing that I pretty much always say. Hell, so do you! It’s always been good enough before, so what fucking gives?”

Sam shrugged. Or did his best approximation of a shrug, given he was still propped up on his elbows. “Things are different now.”

“Sam,” Dean said quietly, an warning edge to his tone, because he didn’t want Sam going there. He was right, of course, but they didn’t need to fucking talk about it, did they?

“Well they are. Hell, Dean, you’re the one that…” He stopped then, obviously thinking better of calling Dean out on being the gay one – gayer one – that wanted his brother to be his friggin’ boyfriend. “Look,” he continued. “I’m… we’re… Whatever this is, I’m in, Dean. But dinner and a movie doesn’t buy you on demand head. If you want this to be more than just convenient sex, you need to act like it.”

“Sam, seriously,” Dean said. “What the Hell is your problem? If I wanted to settle down with a chick I wouldn’t have bothered turning gay.”

Sam froze then, blinked after several long seconds and then a wide smile grew, his lips slowly turning up at the corners and his eyes crinkling at the edges. Oh fuck. “I mean…” Dean back-pedalled, but he had no idea what he meant. He’d said just about the stupidest thing ever, but for the love of fuck, he’d been hard for going on two hours now, and he needed to come, damnit! His blood wasn’t exactly routed to his upstairs brain, so it wasn’t like it was his fault, really.

“It’s okay if you’re gay, Dean,” Sam said, still smiling. “It’s actually good that you can finally admit it.”

“I’m not fucking gay, asshole!” Dean snapped, secretly glad that Sam had chosen that part of what Dean had said to focus on. The thing about ‘settling down’ had him almost more freaked out that the gay thing. Because that part might actually be true. 

Sam, the bastard, just looked at Dean, silent, placating. “I just meant…” He broke off and sighed, started again. “You know what? Fuck it. If you want hearts and flowers and long walks on the beach, you’re barking up the wrong fuckin’ tree, man. This whole thing was one big huge bad fuckin’ idea.”

Sam sighed, and finally flopped back down on his bed. “Don’t be so dramatic, Dean,” he said. “I know you’re not gay, and I’m not expecting any miracles. But do us both a favour? A couple of favours?”

“What?” Dean asked, stubborn and wary.

“Admit that you’re at least bi.” Dean didn’t say anything, but Sam seemed to take his lack of answer as confirmation. Whatever. “And go jerk off in the bathroom. Try again when you’re not being such a selfish prick.”

***

Dean had gone and jerked off in the bathroom, but he hadn’t been happy about it.

And he wasn’t being a jerk at all. He didn’t think. Sure, he might have been a little selfish, what with wanting Sam to get him off but not offering to return the favour, but didn’t people do that sometimes? Fuck, he’d jerk Sam off if he needed it, no questions asked.

True, he’d be less willing to go for the oral if he wasn’t getting any back, but he wouldn’t even blink at a hand job. He was an awesome brother like that. Or, he was now, at any rate. It had taken him a while to get to the point where touching Sam’s cock didn’t make him want to wash his hands with bleach, but now he was just about completely okay with it.

But, Sam seemed set on being a delicate little princess about this shit, and while the blushing virgin act was going to get old real fast, he supposed Sam did have a point. Sort of. A small one. Very small.

Then there was Sam’s other issue.

Was Dean bi? And if he was or he wasn’t, what the fuck did it matter? It wasn’t like he had any plans to stop fucking his brother either way, so why would Sam care?

He thought about it. Actually thought about it, because his brother asked him to and he was a ginormous pushover. He’d never felt any kind of attraction to any guy that wasn’t Sam before, and even Sam had taken a damn long time to grow on him. It had been a grudging, uphill battle, both of them fighting it every step of the way.

Even just the idea of getting it on with another dude made his nose crinkle in distaste, so yeah. Probably not bi. Still, it wouldn’t exactly kill him to take a closer look at some of the men he encountered, just to make sure.

The fucking things he did for Sam. Fucker had better damn well appreciate it.

***

Two days later they were sitting in a bar, Sam scanning his laptop screen for signs of anything demonic, Dean wiping some stray beer foam off his upper lip with the back of his hand.

“Dude…” Dean said, and nudged Sam’s foot under the table to get his attention. 

“Huh?” Sam asked, head snapping up.

“See that guy?”

“Kevin?” Sam asked, following Dean’s line of sight. “Our waiter?”

Kevin. Their waiter. He was a reasonably attractive guy, Dean figured, and a lot of people would probably be more than happy to jump on that, but he didn’t really do much for Dean. Actually, he did less than not much. But the guy didn’t look like he had leprosy or anything, and he wanted to show Sam he was trying.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“I think I’d fuck him.”

“What?!” Sam coughed, choking on a sip of beer he’d taken.

“Well, he’s been checking me out, and he’s not bad. If I did him from behind so I didn’t have to like, look into his eyes, or anything weird like that, it would probably be pretty easy.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open. “Dean, what the hell? You haven’t even hit on a chick since… In over a month, and now you’re about to take a fucking guy home?”

“Dude,” Dean said, screwing up his face at Sam, the resentment and confusion from Sam’s ‘hard to get’ act building. “You’re the one that fucking told me to embrace my gay side. I thought you wanted me to do shit like this!”

“I didn’t mean…” Sam started, then shook his head, mouth a tight line. “Never mind. Yeah. Go be gay Dean.”

Dean wasn’t quite sure about the wisdom of his next move until he’d already made it. And by then it was too late.

He elbowed Sam gently in the side and smirked over at him. “That was pretty much the plan,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. “Think maybe I could get that blow job tonight?”

Sam huffed and stood up, slammed his laptop shut and tucked it under his arm. “I don’t know, Dean,” he said, and Dean’s grin faded at the red alert level of bitchiness in Sam’s voice. “Why don’t you go ask Kevin.”

Dean raised a considering eyebrow as Sam walked away, and chanced a glance in Kevin’s direction. If he kept his eyes shut, it probably would be easy.

At the sudden gust of fresh air that accompanied his brother violently pushing through the bar exit, Dean decided that he was not even close to stupid enough to actually go there. He was planning on getting laid again in this lifetime, after all, and something told him Sam might not appreciate it.

Well, that was a bust.

***

Three days after that, three uncomfortable days of Dean avoiding Sam and Sam shooting Dean curious, annoyed looks out the corner of his eye after that, Dean’s dick was still in some serious need of attention. He figured the best way to get that seen to, despite his better judgement, was to try again to show his bitch of a brother that he could be an awesome boyfriend.

Or, not boyfriend – because even if the two of them got matching heart tattoos and gold fucking rings and started to adopt hunter orphans and raise them up on a ranch in North Dakota they’d never ever be boyfriends – but he could be an awesome guy who sometimes fucked Sam, probably exclusively, and who could be considerate and thoughtful and all that other bullshit that Sam obviously went in for.

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work out so well that time either.

***

The job was messy. And a pain in the ass.

They’d gotten to the scene of their next case – officially a wild animal attack – a little too late. The body was already fresh in the ground and it was a sweaty, painful six hours of digging him up, but Dean found what he was looking for.

The poor son of a bitch looked like he’d been through a meat grinder, with all the gashes and what looked like claw marks but weren’t. But right there on his neck, just below his ear, and again on his stomach when Dean lifted up his shirt – two small puncture marks.

Fucking vampires.

Oh well. At least they knew what they were up against, and it would probably be pretty easy to take them out tomorrow.

Provided Sam had managed to track down their nest while Dean had been working his fucking ass off all by himsel

Fuck, he hurt all over. Thirty-one wasn’t exactly twenty-one.

Sam had better damn well appreciate getting the evening off. And he better appreciate it with one fucking killer blow job.

***

It was almost two in the morning by the time Dean was headed back to the motel, but he figured Sam would have probably been too busy researching his geeky little ass off to have gotten them any food.

The McDonald’s on the interstate just outside of town was open 24 hours, and Dean was halfway there when it dawned on him that Sam’s delicate constitution might not like Big Macs in the middle of the night

With a silent curse he kept on driving. Kept driving for twenty fucking miles until he hit the nearest major city and luckily stumbled upon a late night grocery store. Two pre-packaged salads – with lean chicken and low-fat dressing – later, Dean was headed home.

***

“What the fuck?” Sam mumbled, smacking Dean’s hand away from the top of his head, where Dean was giving his previously sleeping brother a vigorous noogie. “Fuck off, jerk. Was sleepin’.”

Dean snorted at that. 

“Yeah, hunched over your computer, ready to wake up in the morning with a wicked kink in your neck. Fuck was so interesting anyway?” he asked edging closer, peering over Sam’s shoulder at the blackened screen and sliding his finger across the mouse pad to wake it up. “Porn?”

Sam pointedly ignored that.

“Tracked down our… vamps?” he asked, sitting up straighter and stretching in a way that wasn’t even a little bit distracting. Dean’s mouth didn’t go a little dry, and he didn’t swallow down a non-existent lump in his throat. He did nod though. “Took a few hours. Probably better off that we split up tonight.”

“Yeah well. Probably best to leave the heavy lifting to the men, anyway,” Dean said, grinning slightly, and even more when Sam scowled. “Besides, I didn’t want you to break a nail, princess.”

Because even when Dean was trying to do something nice, he was, apparently, completely incapable of actually being nice.

“Or,” Sam said, shutting down his computer and looking over to Dean. “You just knew you couldn’t hack the ‘brain’ end of things, so you decided to try and save face. Don’t worry, Dean. Even though I’ve got thirty pounds of muscle on you, and I’m four years younger, I’m still completely in awe of your masculinity and strength.”

“I was trying to do you a favour, you jackass, because I know how much you hate fresh corpses. Christ. Next time you can dig up the grave and do all the research. I’m sure the waiter at our next dive will be more than happy to keep me entertained while I wait for my brilliant little brother to save the day.”

Sam sighed and pushed back in his chair. Rubbed his hand over his eyes and looked at Dean. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s been a long night, for both of us, and I think…”

“Whatever,” Dean interrupted with a shrug. “Save it, okay? You’re a bitch, I’m awesome, the end.”

Sam huffed out a laugh and nodded tiredly. “Yeah, okay.”

“Good,” Dean nodded, picked up the brown paper bag that he’d tossed on the table and handed Sam his salad, looking at his own distastefully. “Now eat up. I sure as fuck didn’t buy this shit for my health.”

Sam looked at him oddly for a few seconds, sniffed around his first couple of bites like the salad might be poisoned, but ended up finishing it enthusiastically. Damn right Dean was awesome. He nodded to himself and wished he’d at least gotten some ranch dressing to make this damn rabbit food edible.

Dean bid his time while they were eating. Called first dibs on the bathroom when they were finished and waited patiently while Sam washed up, casually stoking his cock through his boxers while he heard the water running.

He waited while Sam slipped into his own bed, shut the light out and tugged the blanket over his hips before Dean let out a low, heavy breath, and spoke.

“Blow me?” Sure it came out kind of pathetic, a half begging, desperate sort of sound, and it was arguably douchey, considering he still hadn’t offered to return the favour, but fuck. He’d turned half gay, admitted out loud to Sam that might find guys attractive, spent the night shovelling corpse dirt all on his own, and drove half an hour each way out of his way to get Sam a fucking salad.

That was all damn selfless and Sam could fuck right off if he didn’t think so too.

“Dean, it’s three o’clock in the morning. We have to be up in two and a half hours if we want to hit the nest at dawn and… oh yeah. No.”

“Shit. You know? If I’d known your knees were gonna snap shut faster than a virgin at a keg party as soon as I took you out on an actual date, I wouldn’t have fucking bothered.” He kicked the blanket off himself, suddenly much too hot, and looked down sadly at the outline of his hard cock. “I got better ways to spend my time than to wade through your bullshit.”

“I’m not…” Sam started and then in a blur of god awful polka dot Sam was sitting up, feet on the floor and facing Dean. “Dean, maybe you’re expecting too much. I’m not ‘holding out’ or whatever the hell you think. But just because we’re…” He gestured vaguely between them, but didn’t finish. “Doesn’t mean it’s open season. We’ve gone this long before.”

“Just because you can go fucking months without, doesn’t mean I can. Fuck Sam, you’re gonna kill me, here.”

“You’ve never had any problems finding someone else to keep you satisfied in between,” Sam told him, eyes locked directly on Dean’s, even through the dark. “Do what you’ve gotta do.”

Dean turned over in a huff, pulling the sheet up over his shoulder even though he was still too hot. He was tempted to take Sam’s advice, find the girl with the biggest rack at the next bar they hit, get drunk and naked and slide his dick in between her tits while a set of pretty, pouty lips lapped around his cockhead.

And he could. Easily. But he wasn’t so dumb that he didn’t know this was a test of some sort. It was either big boobs and slippery pussies pretty much on demand, or Sam’s ridiculous hair, overly muscled arms and perfect fucking ass on the seemingly rare occasions the self-important bastard decided Dean deserved a break. 

He could lie and say the decision was easy, but in all honestly it kept him up all night. For the next three nights.

***

On the fourth evening he admitted to himself that Sam wasn’t the only Winchester that had the potential to be a bitch.

They’d been doing nothing. Pretty literally nothing since ten in the morning after they’d hit the vamp nest and wiped them out. Four days, eight states and a dozen tanks of gas later, Dean pulled them off into the parking lot of yet another shoddy looking motel.

“What are we doing here?” Sam asked, head lifting up from where it was resting sleepily against the passenger side window.

“Takin’ a load off,” Dean answered, not turning the key to shut off the engine. “Why don’t you head in, get us a room. I need a fucking drink.” And a fucking lay, he didn’t say.

Sam seemed to hear it anyway.

“Yeah okay,” he said, snorting and shaking his head. Like he was disappointed. Like he had any right to be. “I’ll text you with our room number. Try to make it back in one piece.”

Dean opened his mouth to answer, with what he didn’t know, but Sam was gone and the door was slamming shut behind him before he got the chance.

He wasn’t gone more than half an hour.

Twenty minutes at the bar, two beers and some brief first base action with a cute brunette and he was out the door. His hand absently brushed at his neck where the girl had kissed him, unconsciously trying to erase her touch.

He smelled like perfume. He hoped Sam didn’t notice.

***

“You smell like perfume,” was the first thing Sam said when he opened the door for Dean.

“Yeah,” Dean said, having nothing at all really to say to that. Changing the subject was his best strategy. Especially since he’d just given up a golden opportunity and was still angling after that blow job. “But I brought coffee.”

Dean shoved his hand out, pressing the cup into Sam’s hand a little too forcefully and Sam staggered back a couple of steps from the impact. Thankfully the coffee didn’t spill. 

“It’s almost midnight,” Sam said, looking at the cup and then back at Dean.

“Yeah, but it’s got sprinkles and whipped cream and cinnamon and everything the girl behind the counter said she likes in hers.” His smile was half-assed, but hopeful.

“Why?” Sam asked, blinking and setting the cup down on the table, shaking his head at Dean.

“Because she’s just as much of a girl as you are? How the fuck am I supposed to know why she likes her coffee like a six year old at a tea party?”

“No, I mean… why are you bringing me this? It feels like an apology coffee. You don’t owe me an apology, Dean.”

Dean just shrugged out of his jacket and took a sip of his own drink. Black coffee. A man’s drink.

“The bar sucked,” he said, trying for casual to the point where he knew it wasn’t. “Had a couple beers, left and felt like grabbing a coffee on my way back. Though it might be a little rude not to get you one.”

Sam looked at him. Kept on looking at him while he stripped out of his clothes and slipped into a pair of track pants to sleep in. They’d driven north, and it wasn’t as hot as it was in New Mexico. Finally Dean looked back and Sam’s considered expression softened, and he gave Dean a small nod.

Good. Looked like he was off the hook. The last thing he wanted to do was explain to Sam that the reason he wasn’t balls deep in some sweet snatch at the moment was that he’d pretty much do _anything_ on the outside chance that Sam would fall on the bed with his legs in the air.

Even though Sam totally knew it already.

“Okay, so… we’re good?”

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam said, his eyes soft. “We’re good.”

Dean sighed heavily in relief and sat down on the edge of his bed, looking up at his brother. “Good. Now can you _please_ suck my fucking dick?”

Sam crossed the room and stood in front of him, lowered himself to his knees and put his hands on Dean’s thigh.

“I'm thinking about it,” he said, and grinned a shit-eating grin.

“What the fuck?!” Dean cursed, his voice almost breaking on the last word. He placed a hand on his belly just above his dick, which had gotten almost painfully hard watching Sam sink to his knees in front of him. “I played your fucking games, passed your fucking test, didn’t I? What gives?”

If Dean wasn’t already sitting down his knees would have given out on him when Sam slipped his hand down the front of Dean’s pants and pulled him out. Sam leaned forward slowly and Dean’s breath caught when a soft, pink tongue snaked out to lick over the leaking head of his cock.

“Honestly, I didn't see this coming,” Sam said, licked again and Dean shivered, thought he might lose it right there. “I didn’t actually think you’d do it. Thought for sure you’d have given up, gotten laid somewhere else by now. You surprised me man. In a good way.”

And that, Dean thought, with a chilling sense of disappointment when Sam swallowed him down¸ was the reason that this whole thing was destined for failure. They could blame Dean’s lack of experience and complete ineptitude at emotional connection all they wanted, but if Sam didn’t believe in him, what the hell was the point in trying?

The blow job, after more than a month of waiting, turned out to be not nearly as good as Dean had imagined. How could it be, with that heavy weight settling in the pit of his stomach?


End file.
